


Tumblr Prompts

by starthief



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Real Person Fiction, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Belly Kink, Chubby Kink, Fat fetish, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Feedism, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Size Difference, Size Kink, Stuffing, Tumblr Prompt, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, chub kink, chubby chaser, fat appreciation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:43:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13587435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starthief/pseuds/starthief
Summary: One-shot prompts collected through time from my tumblr @star-thief :)





	1. Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to compile the prompts I've received into a work here, and I'm going to be posting each one as a new chapter, in the order I received them. So the first few might have some outdated references/events

Prompt: 

Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan's ass plz

 

 

“I’m way more of an ass man, clearly,” Chris responded, not quite thinking his answer (or, more likely, the consequences of his answer) through, but answering truthfully nonetheless. “I like butts.” 

It’s when he got home that the shit really hit the fan. He threw his phone on the couch and fell forward, groaning after a long day. A pleasant  _ting_ filled the room, and the screen of his phone lit up. He glanced over to see a text from Sebastian. Face heating up, a bit more than probably should for just receiving a text from a coworker, he unlocked his phone. His expression dropped a little once he actually read the text, however.

_Ass man? Nice_

“Fuck,” Chris swore silently. He didn’t know that Sebastian listened to  _Anna Faris is Unqualified._

The phone  _tinged_  again, and he nearly cringed when he saw that it wasn’t another text from Sebastian, but this time from Anthony Mackie. 

_So, Captain America likes butts_ the text read.

Chris groaned and did a quick Google search. So, apparently, you don’t have to listen to  _Anna Faris is Unqualified_  to get the latest lowdown on Chris Evans’ kinks if the media is shoving it down your face.

He got a few more teasing texts that afternoon, all in good fun, and one less-teasing text from his poor publicist. 

–

In between waves of people coming for signatures at the  _Captain America: Winter Solider Cast_  signing booth, the teasing didn’t stop. Anthony kept popping his head through the curtain to make ridiculous butt puns after everything that was said. Mercifully, Seb kept his mouth shut, only cracking a smirk or two after an especially bad pun from Anthony. 

It was only during break time when Chris was having lunch (tuna sub) in the back room when Sebastian finally spoke. “You never texted me back,” he said in the middle of nowhere, so offhandedly that it took Chris a moment to collect his thoughts together to form a response. 

He chuckled. “What was I supposed to say?”

Seb shrugged, rising from his chair to grab another tuna sub on the tray provided. Chris tried in vain not to note that it was his third, and even though the catered subs weren’t quite as ridiculous as it would have been to see Seb put away three footlongs, he showed no signs of slowing down.

Chris also tried not to notice the weight Seb had gained (and kept) for (and after) Civil War, how nicely his particular ass filled out his Winter Soldier costume, how nicely it filled out the snug black jeans he was wearing right then.

Seb turned, and caught Chris checking out his ass. A smirk lit up his pretty face. “Scoping out your options there, Chris?” 

It shouldn’t have gotten to Chris in the way it did; it really shouldn’t have. Seb had that easy way of flirting with everyone on set. It wasn’t like he was singling Chris out, and if he’d seemed to pay more attention to him since the ass incident, it must have just been Chris’ imagination. 

Unfortunately, his lack of an immediate response (and the flush rising to his cheeks) only provoked Seb more, who wiggled his butt ostentatiously in Chris’ direction. 

Chris swallowed, crossing his legs. He was trying to be inconspicuous, but of course nothing went past Sebastian. 

Seb’s face dropped from teasing to apologetic, and he laughed a little. “I’m sorry, Chris, I didn’t mean to get you all hot and bothered…” he trailed off, trying not to make things awkward. 

Although sure, Chris deserved that for being caught so obviously ‘scoping out his options’. The way Seb had said it caught Chris off guard– as if Seb’s ass really was an option, a weapon in Chris’ arsenal for him to choose.

That brought a bit of a smirk to his face. Ass arsenal. 

It wasn’t an entirely ridiculous notion. Chris’d had plenty of one-night stands with girls and guys alike whose numbers were still in his phone. Most of them were on good enough terms that if Chris was feeling lonely he could call them up and invite them over. 

He often wished that Seb could be one of those numbers, but he’d never crossed the careful border of just being coworkers, and occasional bros. Not like he thought that Seb might say no. That was just the problem. He was sure that Seb would agree to coming over. Which is why if he ever did… do anything with Sebastian, he wouldn’t want him to be another number, another ass. He’d want things to be more than that, for some things to be special. It would almost be a step backward for them to just screw casually. 

Which is exactly why he’d never asked. Sebastian had never expressed interest in something so sentimental. And Chris didn’t want to come across like a naive idiot. 

–

Sebastian pressed the button to call Anthony. He had a terrible habit of having groups of friends apart from his other friends, and he felt bad about calling Anthony every time he needed advice about his little crush on Chris, but fortunately, Anthony didn’t seem to mind.

Anthony answered on the second ring. “What did Evans do now,” he sighed patiently. 

Seb had gotten used to Anthony knowing exactly what he called for a long time ago. “I don’t know why he’s holding himself back. I mean, it seems like he wants to. I totally caught him checking me out, but he backed down when I called him out on it. Are you  _sure_  he’s interested?” he asked for probably the millionth time.

“My man, calm down,” Anthony’s tinny voice came from over the phone, a couple other sounds streaming through. “He’s giving off all kinds of interested vibes. Trust me. It’s just a matter of time before he cracks.”

“Okay,” Seb replied, hesitantly.

A hand clapped on his shoulder. He spun around to see Chris smiling at him. “Hey man. Talking to Anthony about me?”

“You know it!” Anthony shouted through the phone.

Chris laughed, and Seb blushed while he terminated the call, shoving his phone in his pocket. Chris’ face turned serious. “Hey, I’m sorry about leaving you hanging in the room like that. It was kind of cruddy of me.”

After Seb had apologised for… whatever it was that had happened, Chris had quickly excused himself and left, practically running from the room, and Seb had wanted to hit himself. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Seb stuttered out. “I’m sorry for, ah, making you feel like you had to run out.”

Chris smiled easily, and Seb’s heart melted a little. “So we’re cool then?”

“Hm… no. Buy me a milkshake, and we’re cool,” Seb teased. 

Chris laughed. “Deal.”

–

_So, this is happening,_  Seb thought to himself that night when Chris bought him a chocolate milkshake from some street vendor in the park. They were checking out the city that they were signing autographs for later– they’d already been through so many cities that Seb wasn’t even sure which one they were in. So, it was totally, definitely not a date. Just hanging out and seeing the sights, and making good on a deal. Not a date.

Which is why it was especially torturous when Chris couldn’t finish his thick shake, and offered the rest of it to Seb, who had finished his own a few minutes ago. Seb agreed after a moment’s pause, and they sat on a bench, enjoying the warm April sun.

“Seb, do you like me?” Chris asked, startling Seb in the middle of a thick chunk of chocolate that hadn’t been evenly stirred, slurping through the straw with surprise. 

“Uh…” Seb started, before Chris interrupted again.

“And I don’t mean like the ‘sure you’re a great guy’ kind of way,” he said, voice slightly raised, not meeting Seb’s eyes, like he was afraid it’d be a no.

Seb nearly laughed at the whole high school-esque nature of the moment. “Sure, Chris.” He slipped his hand inside Chris’, who finally made eye contact, eyes wide. “Which is why I hope this is okay.” He leaned forward.

“Wha–” Chris breathed out before Seb closed his eyes and found Chris’ lips. Holding the milkshake with his left hand, he put his right arm around Chris’ shoulders. Chris’s hands (unsurprisingly) found their way down to Seb’s ass. 

There were a few audible gasps and clicks of cameras in the slightly populated park, but Sebastian didn’t care. The taste of chocolate in Chris’ mouth matching the sweet flavour of his milkshake was enough to take anyone away. He felt Chris squeeze his ass and he smiled into the kiss. “Bet you’ve been thinkin’ about doing that for a while,” he teased.

“You have no idea,” Chris responded with a laugh, but Seb could tell that he was serious. 


	2. Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Bucky as a fat, hotshot prince of a foreign nation studying (read "partying") in America at the same college as hardworking scholarship student Sam. They get stuck together for a project worth a chunk of their grade. This should go well

In America, all the celebrities have sculpted abs and strong jawlines. In America, you’re considered attractive if you refuse a second doughnut and drink kale and run four miles every morning. Sometimes, Sam despises America.

Sam has known that the fatphobic ideals of what is ‘conventionally attractive’ has never appealed to him. Yet, he exhausts himself by maintaining that standard. Sometimes he doesn’t know why he tries so hard to appeal to a demographic he’s not interested in. But in college, appeal is what it’s all about. Sam walks down the hallway to his dorm, sweaty after a run, his shirt clinging tightly to his six-pack. Both men and women stare. He’s stayed single throughout the first semester, but he almost feels bad for always turning them down.

Today, though, is different. The attention isn’t really on him. There’s a crowd at the opposite end of the hallway. Sam’s too tired to go see what it is, though, so he opened the door to his room and took a quick shower before class.

After that, he walked to his first class of the day, Thermodynamics 101. Oddly enough, almost none of the students were in their seats. Sam sat down next to Clint. “Hey, where is everybody?” he asked, signing while he spoke.

“You haven’t heard?” Clint signed back. “There’s a new student. Some kind of prince.”

“You’re joking.” Sam got up and followed a few other students to the main office, where the new student was talking to the dean.

Already, an images was beginning to form in his mind. A real prince?! With blond hair, sunkissed skin, a white mandarin shirt with gold epaulettes and a red sash.

He heard the door open, and the crowd parted a little to let the prince through. Even if Sam hadn’t been told, he would have known at once he was royalty. The swagger with which he walked, the way he held himself, everything about him commanded the attention of everyone in the room. As he neared, Sam could tell more details about him. He had longer hair than he expected, chestnut brown and down to his shoulders… stormy blue eyes… and he weighed about 250 pounds.

Sam was so surprised that he didn’t notice the prince stop right before him. “Excuse me…” he asked in a thick Slavic-sounded accent. “Could you please lead me to Thermodynamics 101?”

–

Sam was pissed off, and he didn’t know why. No. That’s not true. He did know why. He’d been trying damn hard to get the body he had. He’d deprived himself for years to look like a Greek god. And then this… very soft prince walks in out of nowhere, large belly pressing up against the tiny desk he’d practically shoved himself into, and everyone in the school was completely enamoured with him.

That’s because he’s so goddamn gorgeous, Sam hissed at himself. Okay, he knew he was being ridiculous and immature. But it was better than being honest. Because if he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit that the moment ‘Bucky’ had chosen Sam out of all of the people in the crowd and asked for directions, Sam had fallen completely in love with him too.

He sat at the desk with such ease, careless attitude at odds with the clearly uncomfortable position he’d wedged himself into. Sam had to take him around the back hallway to avoid all people, and they’d been a few minutes late to class. The professor took that time to announce to everyone that there would be an upcoming project worth 60% of their grade, and everyone had already been partnered. Well… everything except for Sam and Bucky. Which left them in the unfortunate position with being partnered together.

“Uh, Mr. Stark, do you think we could switch partners?”

Mr. Stark, a grumpy old man with a pencil moustache, frowned over at Sam. “If you wanted to be paired with someone else, you shouldn’t have been late.”

Clint wiggled his eyes and leered over at Sam. “I’ll switch with you,” he signed. He’d been partnered with Tony, Mr. Stark’s son, who was doomed to flunk.

“I’m good,” Sam signed back. He sighed and turned to face Bucky. For the rest of the class, they were supposed to pick the elements of their reaction to prove thermodynamic’s effect on chemical reactions. “So… do you know anything about thermodynamics?”

Bucky shrugged. “It is a branch of physics, yes? In Romania, I study physics with my tutor.”

So, the prince was from Romania. Sam quickly thought back to anything he might know of the country, which was a big goose egg.

Sam tried to ask him a few more questions to see if he knew what he was doing, but everyone else in the class seemed eager to ask him more personal questions. Bucky was as patient and polite as Sam would expect, diplomatically answering each question, no matter how graphic it was. An hour later, Sam knew more about the man than he could have ever dreamed… including whether he was dominant in bed, his favourite positions, how many partners he’d had, and the gender of most of those partners. Sam tried to pretend like he was disgusted with all the vulgar talk, but really, he was trying to stop himself from picturing the prince naked. Would his overhang cover his genitals? It was hard to tell whether his belly would be just as round and perky once his form-fitting clothes were off, or whether it would sag, the product of his indulgence and laziness…

Fortunately, before Sam’s mind went even father down that line of thought, Mr. Stark bid every a good afternoon and class was over. Bucky stopped Sam on his way out. “Perhaps we should talk more about the assignment outside of class. My room is 384.”

Sam was about to ask him what time was good, but Bucky left without waiting for a response. Clearly the man was not used to being declined.

–

Sam nearly expected to see him in a few of his other classes of the day, or at least around the cafeteria, but he caught no other sight of the prince for the rest of the day. He caught more than his share of strands of gossip, however, as he was the number one hot topic of the day.

On Tuesdays, Sam didn’t have any night classes, so he figured 6 pm would be a good time to go over to his room, and he hoped the prince would be there. Maybe he would even be getting ready for dinner, and Sam could watch him eat…

Sam made a fist so tight that his nails cut into his skin sharply. He filled his mind with metaphorical cold water, and walked to Bucky’s room.

Bucky opened the door before he even got a chance to knock, and immediately let his guest in. “Perfect timing. Do you like mamaliga?”

It was hard enough for Sam to focus when Bucky was talking in that goddamn sexy accent, but hearing him say something in his native tongue made it impossible. Sam was almost afraid to ask what ‘mamaliga’ was, but as he stepped inside, a cacophany of smells hit his nose and he saw a generous spread of foreign food across a card table. Sweet Jesus, he was having dinner. Sam didn’t know how to react.

“Uh… mama what? I’ve never tried it before.”

“It is good, kind of polenta. You try some.”

“Nah, man, I’m good. I already ate.”

Bucky shrugged and guestured to a chair. He seemed more relaxed in his own dorm; Sam had half-expected him to pull the chair out from the table and help Sam in. His sort of ease made it almost feel like they were friends, and it was even hotter than his gentlemanly charm.

Sam really tried to make an effort not to stare, but Bucky was clearly enjoying himself so much that it was hard not to. The faces he was making… god, Sam could picture him making those same expressions as he groped his waist…

“So… what you came here for…” Bucky interrupted.

“Right… yeah.” Sam almost felt like he had to shake his head to clear his thoughts, like in a cartoon. “The project.” He began to pull his laptop out of his backpack.

Bucky laughed, and Sam’s heart may or may not have lurched a little. “No, ba nu, not the project. That is not what you came here for.”

Sam was bemused and excited all at once. “I don’t think we’re on the same page…”

Bucky smiled. “Play coy all you want.” he reached over to Sam’s chair, and with one hand, pulled him across the tiled floor until the metal of the folding chair hit his own. Sam’s breath caught in his throat.

But it was Sam who closed the distance between them first, reached out a hand and put it right on the full curve of Bucky’s belly. Then, before the other man could react, he leaned forward even more and kissed the prince on the lips.

Second guessing himself, he immediately pulled back, his eyes wide. Panic began to shoot through him, but then Bucky took Sam’s hand and put it under his shirt, letting Sam feel all of his warm curves without obstacle. “Finally,” he laughed, and pulled Sam in for a deeper kiss.


	3. Poe Dameron/Finn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: King and Lionheart StormPilot au? With Poe as a beautiful chubby space prince and Finn his devoted knight-Jedi sworn to protect him but he has deep feelings for him.

_He’s here._

Finn knew the moment Poe’s x-wing touched down onto the base. He was only a padawan, and the Force was not always strong inside him, but it was the strongest whenever Poe was around. 

It was strange that he couldn’t even usually sense Rey or Rose when they were coming. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him after all… they never made his heart race or heat pool at the base of his stomach like Poe did. 

He ran out of his room, skidding a little on the recently waxed floor as he ran down the hall. He passed the first hangar, but he could tell without even looking that Poe wasn’t in that one. He turned a sharp right, and there before him was the x-wing touching down. 

 _I made it,_ he thought with a sigh of relief. He knew it really wasn’t that big of a deal, but he always preferred to get there first when Poe returned from an expedition.

The hatch where BB-8 sat opened first, and she dropped down and excitedly rolled over to Finn, a stream of binary rapidly coming from her audio output. He didn’t understand binary, but he understood perfectly what she was trying to say. He pat the little droid on her cap. “Good to see you too, buddy!” His mental association between BB-8 and Poe always put him in an excellent mood whenever he even saw that particular colour orange. 

Then the main hatch opened, and it was like time slowed down. The fans in the wings were cooling down, and they spun the exhaust up into the air, smoke curling romantically. Poe emerged, all vibrant colours and dark hair and full cheeks, and Finn honestly couldn’t breathe for a moment.

After a moment or two of forgetting to respire, he choked a little. 

Poe chuckled, and handed him a half-full canteen. “You alright there, Finn?”

Finn drank gratefully, trying not to think about how Poe’s lips had been on that bottle just moments ago, and failing. “Yeah. Just the plane fumes.” 

Poe grinned–  _pfassk, so gorgeous–_  and stepped forward into Finn’s space, embracing him after their two months of separation. “Good to see you again. I told you I’d come back in one piece.” 

Finn laughed nervously. “You better.” 

“You weren’t worried, were you?” Poe stepped away from their hug and removed his flight jacket. 

Finn thought he just might choke again and BB-8′d have to send for a medic, because as Poe stood before him in just his light shirt, Finn realised what was slightly different about the pilot that he just couldn’t put his finger on before. His hair wasn’t longer, his skin wasn’t tanner. He’d gained weight. 

It was hard to tell how much, particularly because it looked so  _kriffing good_ on him, but it was significant. It was popular for pilots to be heavier, because so much of their work was done sitting, and the job didn’t require that much physical strength. Poe had been curvy before, with thick thighs and plush lips, but he was muscular too. Finn had seen him lift heavy pieces of metal to free another resistance fighter from underneath, and he had no doubt that Poe was still just as strong. Now he just had an additional layer of soft padding overtop, and it was dizzying. With Finn’s tough childhood, his parents kicking him out for exhibiting the ability to use the Force at a young age, tossed from home to home, barely having enough food to keep him alive most days, narrowly escaping getting captured by the First Order on more than one occasion… Poe’s physical display of luxury and comfort was the sexiest kriffing thing Finn’d ever seen. 

As if his crush hadn’t already been bad enough. As if everyone wasn’t a little in love with the pilot. Who wouldn’t be?

“Finn?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, you weren’t… ah, never mind. Is there any food around here? A man could starve.”

Finn’s throat went dry. “Perhaps you should report to General Organa first.”

Poe shrugged. “She’s waited two months, she can wait an hour more. I’m looking forward to catching up on some us time,” he added with a wink.

Finn tried to laugh it off.  _Does he have any idea how insane he makes me?_  “Alright, come this way and have some dinner.”

 

–

Poe really ate like he was starving, and Finn worried that maybe he hadn’t eaten yet that day, but Poe assured him that he’d just eaten a few hours before. And described in excruciating detail how much food and how delicious it all was in the planets he’d visited. That was that question answered, then. Poe had always had a vigorous appetite. It wasn’t hard to see how he had gained so much weight just by being on a planet surrounded by such fattening food. Finn wished he hadn’t missed out on the opportunity to be there too, but ever since he came to live at the Resistance base and be trained by Luke, he had very little desire to leave. 

After Poe finished his enormous meal, he sighed happily and leaned back on the couch, sipping his caf. The way he was sitting exacerbated the curve of his gut, making him look larger than Finn could have ever dreamed. 

“Pfassk, I’m full.” He grunted a little as he shifted, and although Finn hadn’t had much experience with being full, a strange question popped into his mind.

“Does it hurt?”

“Hmm? Oh, a little. It’s my own fault; I really should eat slower.” He adjusted his belt a little, moving it under the curve of his gut– oh, that was new– and Finn had to wipe his palms on his pants. “It’s a bad habit I picked up offworld, I guess. We only had a few minutes to finish our food before we had to go back out looking for survivors. And like I said, everything there is just so  _good…_ so I guess I always ate too much too fast.” Finn realised Poe was blushing with embarrassment, and staring down at his lap. Or, more likely, his belly that was just ever-so-softly beginning to rest in his lap. Finn had never thought that Poe would be insecure. He’d been the padawan’s role model for years, the confidence he carried himself, and the genuine way he lived up to his reputation of integrity.  

“You should… you should eat whatever you want,” Finn said. He wasn’t quite sure how to be the uplifting one, and as if to prove that point, his mind instantly went to the dangerous lifestyle they both lead. Anyone of them could die at any moment. They shouldn’t be worrying about things that brought them happiness. Finn just wished that he was one of the things that brought Poe that kind of happiness. 

Poe didn’t seem to hear him. He sat in the chair, looking off into the distance. Absentmindedly, he began to run the palm of his hand over his distended stomach. Finn wanted it to be his own hand so badly.

“Can I?” he asked, having no idea where this bravery was coming from. He supposed it was Poe. Poe made everyone a little braver.

Poe appeared to be absolutely shocked, and for a moment Finn was afraid that he would say no. “…Okay.”

It would have been too awkward for Finn to try to reach him from the chair he sat at, but fortunately Poe had left enough room on the couch for Finn to sit beside him. Both their eyes were a little wide, with varying degrees of nervous energy and excitement, and soon Finn had both his hands spread over the dome of Poe’s stomach, feeling the exact ratio of soft and jiggly to tight and full. And all of it was warm. So, so warm.

He’d never exactly done this before, so he experimented with moving his hands around, rubbing small circles in particularly tight places, pressing and massaging wherever it felt right. Poe relaxed after a couple of minutes and closed his eyes, and if his expressions and happy moans were any indication that Finn was doing a good job, then he was happy his bravery chose this moment to appear. 

After a little while (and honestly, Finn could have kept doing this for an eternity), Poe stopped Finn with a hand on his wrist. “You really don’t have to,” he said, although Finn wasn’t sure why he’d try to talk him out of it at this point.

“I want to,” he answered, a little confused… and then realisation dawned on both their faces. Mutual understanding of what they both wanted, what they shouldn’t deny anymore. Maybe Poe was a little Force sensitive, after all.

At this point, Finn was almost laying on top of Poe, stretched out where he was on the couch. Poe brought Finn’s face down with a hand on the back of his head, and finally they kissed. Poe’s lips were just as soft as he imagined, and tasted sweet from the desserts he’d just consumed. 

Finn’s erection was beginning to press into Poe’s thigh, but before he could apologise, Poe reached down his other hand and gave his bulge a squeeze. “Let’s take care of you now, okay?”


	4. Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Bucky who is a chubby and beefy Army recruiter that has this ongoing flirtation with Sam and the other recruiters in the office have a betting pool on who will make the first move. Sam is a civilian and couple years younger with a thing for men in uniform.

“You have that second meeting with the kid today, don’t you?” Clint asks, his tone even but his eyes a little suggestive. It’d be hard for anyone else to pick up, but Bucky knows him well. 

“He’s not a kid. He’s 20.”

“He might as well be 16, with those goddamn huge eyes. You see those?” Clint brings up his hands over his eyes, making popping motions. 

Bucky knows. It’s not exactly that Samuel Thomas Wilson has big eyes. They’re just so full of youth. And that’s the hardest thing about his job. He wants to tell Sam that all that courage and bravado and save the world attitude is good for something, but the military isn’t it. He wants to tell Sam to join habitat for humanity, but he’s not supposed to. He’s supposed to tell Sam whatever is necessary (and truthful) to get him to enlist with the good ol’ U. S. of A. armed forces. It’s not that he doesn’t think Sam will make it; he’s exactly the type of person they’re supposed to look for, really. It’s just that he has too much goddamn spirit, and Bucky doesn’t want to watch that sucked out of him, until he’s nothing but a shell (a beautiful, youthful, alluring shell) for his CO to pour his ideas into. 

Bucky’d like to pour something into him, alright.

He feels guilty for thinking about Sam that way, although he doesn’t know why. It’s not because he’s so young; they’re really only a few years apart in age. Bucky knows he feels ancient, tired all the time, like no sleep in the whole world will ever be enough. He feels fucking worn out, like he’s been in this business for decades instead of almost one. And he knows that he’s not exactly in his prime, either. He’d always been a stress eater, and even though the army has pretty strict standards on a person’s body type (mostly just so they didn’t have to pay for uniforms out of S-XL, he’d discovered), he’d managed to have a solid extra thirty or so pounds and still fit the XL. He was mostly lean muscle before the stress (or just depressed and disillusioned with America) eating showed its effect, so mostly the uniform just pulls a little tight over his middle.

Unconsciously, his hand goes down to his stomach as he thinks, giving himself a perfunctory caress. He’s been catching himself doing that more recently, and he quickly snatches his hand away, nervous at being caught, but Clint wasn’t really paying attention. He’d been speaking, saying something else. Probably about his plans for the weekend with Laura. 

Clint had been right, though. Today is their second meeting, and if this goes well, Bucky’ll probably schedule him for the ASVAB. Their first meeting had been at a McDonald’s close to Sam’s apartment, and although Bucky didn’t usually go to recruitment’s apartments, that’s the location they’ve chosen for today. 

His phone buzzes with the reminder, and Clint nods, giving him a little wave. He probably knew that Bucky hadn’t been listening, anyway. “Have fun. Don’t not stay out too late.”

Bucky snorts and waves him off dismissively, pulling on his hat. As if he was going to get lucky tonight. 

 

–

They’ve just about wrapped up, and Bucky’s ready to schedule Sam for the ASVAB. Before he gets out his phone, Sam stops him, stammering a little.

“Uh… I had, well, had one more question, actually.” Sam hasn’t been nervous before. It’s his confidence and constant eye contact with his gorgeous (huge) eyes that’s captivated Bucky so much. But now he discovers that Sam acting a little bashful is just as, if not more, attractive. “How… ahem.” He clears his throat and starts over. “What exactly is the military’s position on… gay officers?”

 _Oh._ Oh thank god, Sam’s queer.  _He’s queer, he’s queer, he’s queer_ , are the only thoughts racing through Bucky’s mind, and he has to force himself to focus. “Well, uh, it’s been… better.” It was better in 2015. Lots of things were better in 2015. “But it’s not the worst. You won’t get discharged for being openly queer. I’m pan, and I’ve never had much of a problem I couldn’t solve.” 

Is it Bucky, or does Sam’s face visibly brighten? “Yeah? Good.” A gentle blush creeps over his dark cheeks. “I mean… good that you can be into guys. Not… you, but like…” 

Bucky puts his hand over Sam’s on the table. “Yeah,” he says, smiling, cutting him off. He means just to be reassuring, mentor-ly, but Sam’s breath quickens, and Bucky’s pants are tenting. 

Sam leans across the table, and kisses Bucky on the mouth. It doesn’t take him very long to let it happen, run his fingers through Sam’s short hair. One of Sam’s hands is tangled in his slightly-longer buzz cut, and the other creeps down to Bucky’s waist. He can’t even be embarrassed of the way that his heavy lunch is probably making him look more bloated than usual, just because he’s so happy.

 

–

After Sam checks his calendar and clears the day for the ASVAB, Bucky leaves. When he walks back into his office, Clint takes one look at his face and beams.

“Yes!!! Come on, who moved first, him or you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky insists, but he’s grinning, too.

“C’mon, man,” Clint whispers, coming in close. “You can tell me.”

Bucky sighs. He might regret this, but Clint just seems so trustworthy. “He did.” 

Clint immediately steps back away, scowling. “Dammit, Barnes, why do you have to be such a gentleman?” he ruefully hands a 20 to Steve, and that’s when Bucky notices the small crowd gathered in the cramped office. 

“What, you were running a bet on who was gonna make a move first?” 

“Yep,” Natasha grins, accepting a five from Bruce. “And now we’re betting on who’s gonna get who in trouble with their CO first.” 

Bucky tries to scowl at them. But really, when he thinks about it, getting in trouble for Sam’s sake wouldn’t be all that bad. 


	5. Sam Wilson x Bodhi Rook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Sam Wilson tag is in serious need of content. Modern au where Sam is dating Fat!Bodhi Rook/Riz Ahmed who is the prime definition of that "Your son calls me daddy too" meme during his first dinner with Sam's parents and is completely shameless

Sam paced a little on the deck until he saw Bodhi’s car drive up. He was trying not to be nervous, but he just wanted everything to go so smoothly. Bodhi got out. He was impeccably dressed as always, wearing a dark green sweater over a button up, one that Sam knew to be tight enough that it showed skin between the gaps of the buttons. He ran over and hugged him. 

“Am I late?” Bodhi asked when he caught Sam’s anxious expression.

“No… I just, fuck. I want them to like you.”

“They will, baby boy. I’ll just show them how charming I can be.” He put a protective hand around Sam’s neck- not quite holding him, but still a dominant enough gesture to make Sam feel grounded, and he was able to calm his nerves a little.

“How is it that you’re the one who has to make a good impression, but I’m so nervous?”

Bodhi gave him that soft smile he loved so much. “It’s because you’re so caring. It’s one of my favourite things about you, honey.” He licked his lips, and Sam shivered as his dark eyes drifted down his body. “Wish I could relieve some of that tension.”

Sparks flew down Sam’s spine, igniting a fire in the pit of his belly. “Then we really will be late! Come on, we might as well go in before I get any more excited.”

Bodhi chuckled, and they walked up the steps and into the house. Sam’s father was a retired army pilot, same as Sam, but had also served as an army chapel for a couple decades. They’d had their differences when Sam came out as queer in high school, but ultimately Paul came to the realisation that he just wanted Sam to settle down with someone who would treat him well. Sam’s mother, Darlene, had been enthusiastically trying to set him up with every other gay boy she knew, and Sam had to love her for her efforts. His brother and sister, Sarah and Gideon, were also going to be at dinner.

Bodhi, on the other hand, was an orphan with no siblings. When they met in Pakistan, Bodhi was a loner who had a world full of trust issues. After months of flirting and finally coming to terms with their emotions for each other, it had taken Bodhi even longer to fully open up to Sam. In the eight months since they’d began officially dating, they’d made so much progress in communicating what they needed from each other, and they were still learning to be honest. Sam was mostly worried that his family would scare Bodhi off, and he’d close himself off to Sam again.

He needn’t have worried, though; Bodhi was so eager to make a good impression that he tolerated their barrage of questions with an amiable smile the whole time. 

“Pleased to meet you, Sir,” Bodhi greeted Paul. Mr. Wilson was a very tall man at 6′3″, and his excellent posture made him look every inch of it. Sam often forgot that Bodhi stood only 5′8″, but the commanding presence with which he held himself made him appear much taller. Years in the military had made him strong and muscular, but his appreciation for the good food that he never really got in his youth (and Sam’s instincts of taking maybe a little too good care of him) had added about fifty extra pounds of plush fat right over his stomach. 

“And you as well! We’ve heard so much about you,” Paul responded.

Darlene promptly broke up their handshake, rushing over and immediately hugging Bodhi. She was a very short and stout woman herself, and when she stepped back from their embrace, she beamed and patted the round curve of Bodhi’s gut. “So nice to see a boy who can eat! Maybe you can share some of those habits with Sam, get some meat on his bones.”

Bodhi smiled politely, and introduced himself to Gideon and Sarah. They were 15 and 19 years respectively, and Gideon was immediately fascinated with him. “Do you have any tattoos? I bet you’re a really great pilot. What’s the biggest jet you’ve ever flown?”

Sam felt himself relax more with every passing minute. Darlene excused herself to go check on the pot roast, and in a few minutes everyone was invited into the dining room. Over dinner, the conversation flowed politely, and fortunately no one noticed as Bodhi served both himself and Sam, out of habit from ordering for him in so many restaurants. Sam wasn’t feeling as nervous as earlier, but he still didn’t have much of an appetite, and most of his food ended up on Bodhi’s plate anyway. 

After the main course was over, and while everyone was waiting for the pies to cool, the conversation changed to things like politics and world events. There were a couple of moments where Bodhi and Paul had some disagreements about immigration laws and pollution, but just as Sam was worried he might need to step in and change the subject, each side provided their opinions respectfully, and listened to the opposing argument. 

Once the pies were ready, Bodhi served himself a slice of cherry and blueberry. Without asking, Darlene handed him some apple, and Bodhi just thanked her politely. Everyone was so enraptured by their dessert that only Sam saw Bodhi lean back slightly and undo the button of his slacks. 

There was an awkward moment where Sam got a little of his own slice of cherry on his hand, and spoke without thinking. “Could you hand me a napkin, Daddy?”

Both Bodhi and Paul reached over to the holder shaped like a butterfly that Sarah had made in third grade. They awkwardly blinked at each other, but Paul drew his hand back as Bodhi handed him a napkin. 

“Thanks,” Sam muttered, blushing furiously. But he played it off to just the possibility that Bodhi was sitting closer to him, and his father was at the head of the table. 

 

–

After dessert, when Sarah and Darlene cleared the table and Gideon and Paul went into the living room to pick a TV show, Bodhi and Sam went upstairs to see Sam’s old bedroom. 

“See, baby? That didn’t go badly. Nothing to worry about.”

Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I thought I was going to  _die_ when I accidentally called you ‘Daddy’ in front of my father.”

Bodhi broke out into a giggle that made his belly bounce from where he sat on Sam’s bed. “Oh, so you did mean me? I wasn’t sure if you actually called your father that.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. He’d referred to his father as “Papa” for so long, and the good fortune wasn’t lost on him. 

Bodhi patted the spot next to him. “How about giving my poor stomach a belly rub, then?” And Sam gleefully sat on his lap and let his mind empty as Bodhi muttered soothing praises. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can send your own prompt either in the comments or on my tumblr at star-thief :)


	6. Sam Wilson x Clint Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine with Clint x Sam where Clint is chubby and fat. Premise? Clint is a red light district worker Sam encounters during his downtime during the Air Force equivalent of shore leave.

When Sam’s troop was grounded at Buenos Aires for the weekend, originally they were supposed to pick up a shipment of supplies and fly back to Hawaii on Tuesday. However, there had been a mistake in the scheduling, and the shipment had already gone to another troop. Instead of flying back right away, Sam’s CO decided that they deserved the break, and they might as well have some fun while they were there.

So that left Sam and the rest of the boys with an entire four days of finding trouble to get into. The rest of his troop went directly to a local strip club, inviting Sam to come with them, but his interests were in less… feminine places.

With his limited Spanish, it took him an awkward minute to explain to the taxi driver that he wanted to go to a gay club, and he still wasn’t entirely sure the poor woman understood his gestures. When she let him out in front of a building with a neon rainbow in one corner, relief washed over him and he gave her a very generous tip. 

He went in and found a table by himself. It was early in the evening, so there weren’t any shows going on, but he saw various sex workers hanging taking cigarette breaks. He didn’t feel like struggling with the language gap, so he just ordered a beer that he recognized and tried to enjoy the familiar loud music, the dim light filtering through a hazy cloud of smoke.

One particular worker kept catching his eye. He was a curvy bombshell with short dirty blond hair and crystal blue eyes. He was wearing a purple mesh top that showed off his nipple piercings and love handles. Sam didn’t want to get his hopes up by maintaining eye contact, but there was something about his gaze that had him captured. 

After a few moments, he made his way over, and Sam dropped his gaze to his drink. “¿Cómo estás querido?” he asked, with a lovely voice, deep and rich.

“Ah… no hablo espanol,” Sam stuttered.

“Português?” He asked again, hopeful.

“No, English.”

He grinned easily. “Then you’re in lucky. Born and bred in Iowa.” He gave him a wink. “You an army man?”

Sam nodded. “Pilot.”

“Want some help taking your mind off things?”

Now that the language barrier wasn’t keeping Sam from having fun, he wasn’t sure what it was that was holding him back. “I’m… not really feeling it right now.”

“Okay. Ask for Clint, if you change your mind.” Sam watched his round ass wobble through his clear holo pants as he walked away. 

Since he didn’t feel like doing anything at the club, he figured he might as well leave. He paid for his beer and walked around the streets for a while. It was already 9, but the sun was still setting in the distance, and the highlights over the water were fuchsia.

 

–

A little after four in the morning, he was having an omelet in the cafe next to the troops’ hotel. A gentleman sat down next to him, and he glanced over. The man seemed familiar, and when he thought about it for a moment, he realised he was the worker from last night. What was his name? Clark? Curt? He hadn’t recognised him at first in jeans and a v-neck t shirt. 

He ordered his breakfast in flawless Spanish. Sam looked away too late, and their eyes met. But all the man offered was a smile. Maybe he didn’t remember him? It had been dark, and there he must see hundreds of people in one night.

They continued their meal in silence. The worker- Clint, that was it- had ordered an enormous breakfast, and Sam was trying not to be a creep by watching. He’d seen what the man looked like without (more or less) a shirt, and he couldn’t get images of him out of his mind. He wanted to touch the soft skin, run his fingers through his short hair.

Sam finished first, having arrived about ten minutes before Clint, and as he paid and thanked the cook for his meal, he heard Clint speak as he left. “See you around, pilot.”

Sam paused for a minute in the door, but continued on. He told himself it was just bad timing.

 

–

He tried to relax, but for the rest of Friday, no matter where he went, he couldn’t get Clint out of his mind. He wanted to taste those lips, to run his hands over the inside of his thighs. 

It was 6 pm. He sat on the only chair in his hotel room. The open door to the small balcony was in front of him, and the hot night wind made the light drape blow into the room. For the last hour, every few minutes he had almost gotten up, possessed by the urge to run down to the club and ask for Clint. Without fail, each time he’d decided to stay put. 

_It’s just…_

_Bad timing._

He’d finally, definitely decided on getting up. Why be alone if he was just going to be miserable? He’d go down to the club. Clint’d be there, wearing something adorable and scandalous. They’d have a nice time together and everything would be okay and he should really just stop second guessing himself. He’d get up and put on a shirt and his shoes and he’d leave.

He didn’t get up.

When the sun went down, he left his hotel and walked in the opposite direction from the club. He intended to find a place to buy toothpaste, but a half hour later the gentle light of the rainbow sign was reflecting in a small pool at his feet. He went inside, and confronted a waiter. “Is Clint here?” When the waiter didn’t immediately respond, he repeated himself. “Clint?”

The waiter shook his head and said something. Sam recognised the words for “Friday”, so he thought maybe the waiter said he didn’t work that day.

He tried to put Clint out of his mind.  _He had a nice smile. Don’t go ruining your weekend about it._

_–_

The next morning, he went to the same cafe hoping that Clint might be there. He wasn’t. He went to the club that night and tried to ask the same waiter about him again. The man said something else, but Sam just couldn’t understand him. As he was about to leave, the man gently grabbed his arm.

“Espera espera. Aquí está su número. Número?” He wrote down ten digits on a napkin. 

“Oh! Gracias.” 

He had to work himself up to calling. He dialed once, but hung up before the call went through. 

He called a second time, letting it ring.  _We make our own timing, right?_  Clint didn’t pick up.

 

A few hours later his cell phone rang. He was out with another one of the pilots, but he picked up anyway. “Hello?”

“Hey! Is that you, pilot?”

“Hey- yeah, it is… Clint?”

“Yeah! Esteban says he gave you my number. You been askin’ around for me?” Sam couldn’t tell if there was a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m glad you got me. Listen, I’m off tonight, but if you’d like to hang out, would you maybe like to go to dinner?”

Clint gave him the address of the place. 

After all the near misses they’d had over the last two days, Sam almost expected Clint to not be there. But he was, sitting on a table for two in the back. It was next to a fence that had a row of string lights at the top. Sam took his seat. 

“Hey! I’m glad you could make it.”  _There’s that smile._

“Me too.” 

Sam wasn’t very nervous, but he was always a little reserved, especially when things were laid out in very blatant terms. He didn’t like reading between the lines. That’s part of what made him so good for the army; everything was given to him straight, and he always knew the risk. 

“Oh, by the way, before the waiter comes, do you want me to order for you? This place has some really amazing stuff, and if you like trying new things, I could recommend some really neat stuff for you.”

“Uh… yeah, that’d be really nice. Thanks.”

The waitress came a few moments later, and Clint ordered. Sam thought he could listen to him speak Spanish all day, especially when he was ordering food. He had a beautiful way of saying each word, like it was a joy to know that those simple phrases could produce such beautiful tastes, like a spell, that each flavour was constructed just for him. 

While they were waiting for their food to arrive, Clint started up the easy kind of conversation that Sam envied. He talked about pleasant things, with no particular need for Sam to interject, but it wasn’t as if he was rambling on either. Sam felt perfectly comfortable listening to him chat about his favourite type of cloud, and what type of sauce went well with what fish, and whether or not the soundtrack to that movie that came out last July really was the best choice. Sam tried as best he could to show his interest, not wanting Clint to think that he was ignoring him, but Clint seemed content to have to carry the conversation himself. Sam had rarely met a person who instantly made him feel happy with just existing, and not putting such an effort in worrying how he appeared to the other.

As they finished their meal, Sam felt confident enough to bring up what had been on his mind. “So, Clint… I’m going to be leaving on Tuesday.”

Clint nodded. “I figured you weren’t here for long.”

“Right. And I just wanted to make sure there weren’t any… miscommunications about what we’re doing. Do… do you see people?” Sam wasn’t sure how to phrase his question, but fortunately Clint knew what he was asking.

“Outside of work? Yeah, I do. I’d like to see you until you leave, if that’s okay.”

“I’d like that too.” It’d be an understatement to say that Sam had commitment issues- or, at least, commitment anxieties. He didn’t want to do Clint the dishonour of treating him only as a one night stand, but he didn’t think a relationship would be a good idea. Where did that leave them? Friends with benefits that never landed in the same town? 

Maybe he should have let this go on Friday. He already knew the critical effect bad timing could have on relationships.

“I’m going to be honest. I really like you, Sam. Would you like to come back to my apartment tonight?”

Sam thought for a moment, watching his third sunset of Buenos Aires slip beneath the horizon of a scarlet sea. Maybe he’d been through too much bad timing to not pay attention to a moment that was begging him to let it happen. 

“I’d love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh I got carried away with this one! Sorry if it's kind of sad!


	7. Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky the huge beefy and fat policeman Sam has the biggest crush on. Buck's broader than a barn, former military. Sam finds excuses to go to the police department, delivering platters of delicious homemade sandwiches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got kind of serious. Racial undertones if you squint. Please feel free to let me know if any of the sensitive topics are offensive, and I'd be happy to change them!

****

Sam had always wanted to be a policeman when he was younger. When he was eight, his halloween costume was a police chief. He carried around his little plastic badge and handcuffs all the time, until he lost them at a sleepover once. That was when he’d still believed in heroes.

 

–

He woke up at 5 a.m. to pounding on his front door. James Rhodes, who lived in the apartment across the way, was on the other side. 

“Dude, you gotta let me in. They came last night again.”

Sam groaned, and locked the door after Rhodey came in. “That’s the third time this year, man. That’s not right.”

“I  _know_  it’s not right, I–” he sighed. As a male stripper, he didn’t have insurance for any valuables lost, and there wasn’t much that any authorities were doing for him. “I know. Will you come in to file the claim with me tomorrow?” 

“Of course I will.” They both knew it was nearly useless at this point. The system isn’t just broken, it’s designed to fail. 

 

–

Rhodey spent the night at Sam’s on his couch. Sam had scheduled all of his classes at night for the second semester, so he was free to go to the police department in the morning. 

They walked in, and instead of being greeted by the surly face of Sharon, the usual receptionist, there was a different woman. Her badge read “Natasha”. 

“Hi… is Miss Carter here?”

She shook her head. “A few officers were transferred to a different district last month. What can I help you two with?”

Rhodey stepped forward. “I’d like to file a claim on a robbery.” 

The woman’s face turned serious. “Of course. Let me get Officer Rumlowe.” Rumlowe was the dick they’d been stuck with the previous two incidents. Sam was about to speak up and request someone else, but Rhodey stopped him with a solemn look. The last thing they needed was to have security think they were getting too excited. 

Natasha stepped away from the desk and returned a moment later. “Unfortunately, Officer Rumlowe is out on a different case right now. Sergeant Barnes, however, is in his office.” She gestured to a door with a frosted-window pane. It used to have a neat plaque on it that read “Shmidt” but Sam supposed that he was another officer that was transferred.

They stepped inside, and immediately, Sam was speechless. It was a good thing Rhodey could take it from there, because he wasn’t sure he could have made intelligible conversation if he tried. Sergeant Barnes was  _beautiful._ Like, movie star beautiful. Top 5 most beautiful men Sam had ever seen in his life beautiful. He had dark chestnut hair parted deep to one side, long eyelashes sweeping over slate blue eyes, plush lips that were set into a serious line, full cheeks dusted with stubble, and the start of a double chin tucked under a cleft one. His shoulders looked almost as broad as two men, and his regulation button shirt was straining to contain his massive chest and even larger and more impressive middle. Sam wondered how he managed to roll his sleeves up over his thick forearms. Sergeant Barnes stood when they entered to greet them, and Sam was treated with the gorgeous view of his wide thighs, also straining at the seams of his slacks. 

“Gentlemen. How can I help you today?” 

He seemed so sincere to Rhodey’s situation. It’s a shame he was likely to just be as corrupt and unsympathetic as the rest of them. Sam couldn’t count the amount of cops he knew that joined the force just so they could get their hands on some smack. He was polite and helpful enough, but after Rhodey had finished his submission and he stood to leave, Sam paused him for a moment.

“I’m gonna talk to the Sarge. I’ll see you in a sec.” Rhodey nodded and left. Sam felt kind of protective for Rhodey, despite the fact he was older than him by about twelve years. He just hated watching him get screwed over again and again. He addresses Barnes after Rhodey left. “Look, Sergeant…” 

“Bucky, please.”

“Bucky.” Sam’s knees nearly folded. “I’d really appreciate it if you were honest with him. He’s had his fucking apartment broken into three times in the last year, and I’d appreciate it if your goddamn department did shit all to help him out. Pardon my French.” 

“Well, to be honest with you, sir, I’m disappointed in the way my department has handled certain affairs in the past. I hope to rectify that.” 

“Forgive me if I don’t immediately trust that.” 

Bucky nodded. “I’d expect nothing less. I’ll prove myself to you…?”

“Sam.”

“Right. This is my responsibility now. Please, feel free to let me know if the way this is handled in the future is at all unsatisfactory.”

Oh, Sam, would let him know, alright.

 

–

Over the next month, Sam’s anger slowly dissipated. Certainly, Bucky couldn’t reverse time and return all of Rhodey’s valuables, but for once it seemed like the paperwork actually went through. The previous two times, nothing more had come of the claim, but within four to five standard business days, a different policeman called Rhodey and asked him to come in. He went by himself, but he told Sam that the officer he met with had asked him more questions about the break in, as it was part of a case. Other robberies following the same pattern had occurred in the same neighbourhood in the last year with increasing frequency. Sam noticed more patrol cars near his university (which was only two miles from his apartment) in the next week, and although it made him nervous, speeding went down and the kids walking to school could actually use the crosswalk. 33 days after they went into the department, three men had been caught and confessed to breaking and entering into Sam’s apartment, including six others. 

Rhodey knocked on his door a few mornings later. It was a calm three knocks, and Sam felt a type of peace sweep over him to have Rhodey come over for a reason other than crisis. “Hey, I was going down to the police department to thank Sergeant Barnes in person. You wanna come with?”

Sam tried not to jump at the opportunity at once. “Uh… yeah, sure. I have to be back by 4 for my engineering test, but yeah.”

On the way there, Sam saw the corner bakery. “Wait, can you stop the car for a sec?” 

Rhodey pulled over to the side. Sam was back in four minutes with four large double chocolate muffins in a bag. Rhodey raised an eye when he got in the car. “Just, saying thank you. What? Go.”

 

Again, Sam waited for Rhodey to leave before he spoke to Bucky. “I, ah, really appreciate what you did. You proved me wrong. You told me to come to you if I have any complaints, and I don’t. So I… uh…” he handed over the plastic container. 

Bucky’s eyes were bright. “Muffins! Thank you. These are really nice.”

Sam tried not to blush. “Yeah. Well, I hope… um, I hope you like them.” There was an awkward pause where Bucky looked down at the container in his hands for a moment. “I should, ah….” he gestured vaguely to the door. “Get back to. Yeah.”

“Sam, wait–” Bucky came around his desk and crossed the room to stand closer to Sam. Had he gained weight in the month since Sam had seen him? Probably not, he was just letting his mind wander, he shouldn’t be staring… “So, you and uh, Mr. Rhodes, are you close?”

“Well, I guess, I mean we’re just neighbours, but…” Sam laughed. “Wait, did you think we’re dating? No, no… I’m single.” 

“Oh. Oh, okay.” Bucky almost looked like he was trying to contain a smile. “Me too. I mean, you know.”

“Right. Okay. I should get back.”

“Right.” Bucky stuck out a hand for a very firm shake. “Well, thank you for dropping by, Sam. Feel free to anytime.”

 

–

Sam did find reasons to drop by a few more times. At first, he was insecure, muttering something to Natasha about a suspicious white van that had been sitting on the corner for three days, then a week later it was something about a fellow engineer major acting weird. Each time he brought a decadent pastry from the bakery, telling himself various justifications. 

Natasha seemed to understand, though, and the third time he barely had a reason at all. She dismissed his nonsensical rambling and pointed to the door. “Bucky’s in. Go right ahead.” 

Bucky looked up when he opened the door, and his entire face broke into a grin. “Sam! Good to see ya. What’s up?”

Sam noticed the pile of papers on his desk, the gargantuan amount of work that needed to be done. “Oh, um, it’s nothing important. I can come back if you’re busy.”

“No, please.” Bucky glanced at the clock. “It’s my lunch break anyway.” He caught sight of the box Sam held loosely. “What’ve you got there?”

“Oh, uh, danishes? I don’t know if you like them.” 

Bucky smiled softly. He always seemed so inordinately appreciative when Sam brought treats. “I love them, thank you.” Sam was about to leave them on the desk and go, when Bucky touched him gently on the wrist. “Sam, I…” he swallowed thickly, and they met eyes for a moment too long. 

This man, this beautiful, honest, sincere man. Sam felt hope rising in him, hope that he thought had been gone for a long time. Almost like he’d found something to believe in again. 

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking… maybe you could… feed them to me this time?” he looked so suddenly young, unsure and vulnerable. Risking everything, trusting in Sam.

Sam grinned, and everything was okay. Everything was going to be okay now, he could feel it. “I’d like that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If there's something that you'd like to see, feel free to drop a prompt in the comments here, or send me an ask on tumblr @star-thief !


End file.
